


Support

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, here I am, with a partner so far under the weather it's like a blizzard is following him around, and he wants to change his name.  You can't say things are ever dull when you have a Sandburg around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Support

## Support

#### by Aouda Fogg

  
Not mine, making no money. I'm glad they were created, though, so we can play with them! Nicely, of course <wg>  
  
Originally for SenThurs challenge #105 -- Under the Weather -- over on LiveJournal. At first I thought Blair was drunk, but then it turned out he wasn't <wg>.  


* * *

"Hey, Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"I think I'm going to change my first name to Bartles." 

I stood there and blinked at him for a minute, but since I was simultaneously trying to prop him up, unlock the door, and figure out how to get him into the loft, I quickly decided this wasn't the time to try and puzzle that one out. "You lost me, buddy." 

"I think it would be really cool." 

I guided him through the doorway and leaned him against the wall. Kicking the door shut, I looked down at his flushed face and shook my head. "Ok, but is Bartles better than Blair? Though you wouldn't have to change your monogram." 

He smiled at me. "Oh, yeah, good point, for the towels. No, see, then we'd have this really cool partner name thing, you know? We could be Bartles and James, and when we leave a crime scene, we could say, like, `Thanks for your support!' We'd have a tagline, man!" 

I tried not to laugh at him. It was hard. Casting about for something to say, I finally settled on a comment as I steered him towards the couch. "Ah, but since I'm the senior partner, shouldn't it be James and Bartles?" 

"Oh, that would be cool -- kind of a twist, right? Clever, man, clever. I like it. I say we go for it." 

His enthusiasm was coming across more dazed than anything else, but I figured that was only fair considering how high his fever was. The doctor had thought about admitting him to the hospital for observation since he's so susceptible to chest infections, but the hospital was crazy busy with so many people down with this flu, and besides, no one hates hospitals like Sandburg. And, really -- because I can admit it, if only to myself -- I can't resist very many requests from Blair. Especially when he pulls out the big eyes thing like he did as he begged for me to take him home. After swearing to the doctor that I'd keep a close eye on him, the doc had given in, too. 

So, here I am, with a partner so far under the weather it's like a blizzard is following him around, and he wants to change his name. You can't say things are ever dull when you have a Sandburg around. I tucked the heavy quilt in around him and patted his shoulder. "Well, tell you what, Chief; I kind of like the ring of Ellison and Sandburg, but how about we talk about it in morning? In the meantime, feel like some tea?" 

"Mmm, sure." He kind of burrowed into the pillow; he might not be awake long enough for me to even heat the water. "Maybe you're right. People would always be trying to buy us the coolers, and I'm not drinking something that's called Melon Splash, you know?" 

I didn't ask how he knew the flavor names. "Now that's a decision I can support, buddy. Close your eyes, get some rest, and later I'll get you some soup, ok?" 

His "Thanks, man," came out mostly slurred by a soft snore. I stood there for a couple of minutes, looking down at him, and once I was sure he was really out, I smoothed his hair off his forehead. Someday I'd like to do this when he isn't asleep and/or laid up. I have this image in my head of what it would be like. His eyes would be all soft and happy. A little smile would play around his lips, and then he'd reach up and--- 

I went into the kitchen and distracted myself by making some juice from concentrate. It was something with mango in it, so I knew he'd like it. I focused very carefully on stirring the juice, not on the way his hair had felt under my fingers. 

A couple of hours later, he woke up enough to prop himself up on his elbows, but his eyes were bleary and unfocused. 

"Hey, Chief, ready for some soup?" 

"Dunno. Maybe. Mostly I feel like shit." 

"Easy to believe." On my way to the kitchen, I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. By angling it just right I avoided almost all contact with his hair. Self preservation is a wonderful thing. "You're a little cooler, though, so that's good." 

"Reason number 46 it's handy to have a Sentinel around." 

"Glad to have a purpose." 

He rolled his eyes at me. "Of course, if you really wanted to be useful, you could get started on finding a cure for a virus." 

"Sure, Sandburg, I'll get right on that. Build a little lab here next to the stove." 

"Fabulous." 

Since I could hear his voice shaking from fatigue, I distracted him from any further clever banter by sending him off to the bathroom. When he finished in there, he insisted on sitting up at the table, so he lasted all of about six and a half minutes, but since he'd gotten most of a bowl of soup inside him and wasn't looking green, I wasn't going to quibble. A few minutes later, I had him tucked back under the quilt and a fire built up. I thought he'd fallen back asleep, so when I heard his voice, it surprised me. 

"Thanks, Jim. Thanks for taking care of me." 

"No problem, partner." I returned to my book, but he spoke again. 

This time his voice was even quieter. "Always make me feel safe, man." 

My heart clenched so hard it felt like my entire chest was collapsing. Because I wanted him to feel safe. I wanted him to feel so safe he'd never leave me. I wanted to hold him safe in my arms, in my bed. Our bed. But I couldn't say any of that. So I fell back on easy words and whispered, "Go to sleep, Blair." And for once he listened to me. 

It was a long night. I listened as his breathing got more and less raspy. He wasn't coughing too much, but he was restless, even though he refused to let me put him in his room. Maybe we should change his name to Stubborn instead of Sandburg. That one had real possibilities. 

Still, in the morning his fever was back down under 100 degrees, and his eyes were actually mostly clear. Over a couple of pieces of toast, I made him shake his head in disbelief and laugh at his riff on changing his name the night before. While I was needling him about it, I decided I was going to get some change of name forms down at the station and drop them on his desk in the next week, just to see his grin. 

We spent Saturday catching up on a couple of Netflix DVDs and then started a _Firefly_ marathon that we've continued today so that we'll be ready for the movie coming out in a few weeks. I knew Blair was really feeling better when he suggested listening to a couple of the commentary tracks -- something he only likes to do when he feels like he can really listen. Don't get me started about the time I made the mistake of talking about something else while he was watching the actor commentary track of _Return of the King._ Big mistake. So, we sat there on the couch snacking and watching Mal and the gang and their adventures. I even bore my partner's comments about how much the cop in one of the episodes looked like me without mocking him too much. 

Of course, he returned the favor by ignoring the fact that a few hours ago, I went upstairs and grabbed a pair of socks and put on a sweatshirt. I never wear socks around the house unless it's snowing outside, and since it's September, that wasn't the reason. I refused to acknowledge the fact that I was feeling cold. Or the fact that my joints had started to ache. 

I knew Blair had noticed, however, when he threw half of his blanket over my knees, though he didn't say anything. I appreciated that. Actually, I appreciated both: blanket and lack of commentary. 

A few minutes ago, I woke up to find myself curled up on the couch, my head in his lap. I felt like crap, but I wasn't shivering -- I was feeling pretty damned cozy, actually, despite the ache that had become my entire body. And then I realized one of the things that was making me feel so good. 

Blair was stroking my forehead, soothing me, touching me gently, his eyes soft and happy, a gentle smile curving his lips. 

I tried to say his name but it came out more as a croak. 

"Shhh, Jim, sleep. Go back to sleep. I'll be here, and I'll get you some soup later." 

"But. . . " 

"I know, shhhh, I love you, too. We'll talk about it when we're both feeling like doing something about it. Now, come on, go back to sleep." 

"Ok," I conceded reluctantly. I didn't want to close my eyes in case what I'd just seen and heard would vanish. But his hand went back to stroking my forehead, and I could feel his fingers playing along my skin. I love his touch. Feeling myself sliding back into sleep, I managed to whisper anyway, "Hey, Blair?" 

"Mmhmm?" 

"Thank you for your support." 

His gentle laugh was the last thing I heard as I drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

End Support by Aouda Fogg: aoudafogg@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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